


A Million Little Details

by housecoats



Category: The Old Guard (Comics), The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Campfires, Canon Compliant, Canon Related, Crusades, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Everyone Is Gay, First Meetings, Getting Together, Immortal Husbands Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Kissing, Light Angst, Love at First Sight, M/M, My First Fanfic, Old Guard Joe and Nicky, Past, Pre-Relationship, Romantic Soulmates, Seasonal Spirits and Guardians, Surprise Kissing, Swordfighting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-16
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:07:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25317286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/housecoats/pseuds/housecoats
Summary: The true story of how Nicky and Joe met and began to fall for each other."A million little details had been lost to time, abandoned or smoothed out to make their story shine like a precious gem."
Relationships: Andy | Andromache of Scythia & Quynh | Noriko, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 8
Kudos: 91





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic! Pls enjoy! Chapter 3, coming soon!

Joe and Nicky told the story of how they met the same way: with a few choice, clever sentences, rehearsed over decades upon decades of retelling. The story hardly varied at all anymore—it could have been written in stone, or carefully scribed in an illuminated manuscript.

That isn’t to say they got tired of telling the story, especially Joe, who had never been quiet or careful with his declarations of affection, even when it would have served him better to stay quiet. He was gregarious, his charm honed through years as a merchant trader. He could still sell anything, talk to anyone.

A million little details had been lost to time, abandoned or smoothed out to make their story shine like a precious gem. They had both forgotten how hot it had been that day. Almost unbearable, with the weight of their armor bearing down upon them. When Joe was lying on his back, staring through the slit in his metal and mail helmet, his body was baking under the merciless sun high in the Jerusalem sky. After having been drawn through by an Italian, one of the thoughts swirling around in his head was what a relief it would be to get out of the sun. When he woke just an hour later, his first thought was not of fear, but of how he was roasting in his armor. 

***

Nicky didn’t notice the heat. From the start of the battle, his adrenaline, what they had called spirits in the 11th century, had been so high he noticed almost nothing about his surroundings. Relying on the instincts the Pope’s generals had beat into him, he cut and swept his way through the enemy, his vision clouded by a fog of fear. Pain like he’d never experienced shook him out of his daze. He rushed back to himself as he expertly pulled his sword out of the belly of an enemy soldier, as the same man slashed him cleanly across the throat. Receiving a killing blow at the same time he had given one, the last thing he saw before darkness engulfed him was two dark eyes staring at him. 

The first time they resurrected, they fell and woke in tandem. The second time, they were not so beautifully synchronized. Nicky woke with a start, his mind racing with fear as his hand reached for his fallen sword. When he saw the Muslim soldier sit up and dazedly remove his helmet, Nicky struck him without thinking, without considering the fact that his enemy should be dead. Not finding his weapon, he struck with whatever was at hand, a mace left by a fellow soldier who was probably lying not far from the pair, one of thousands who would die properly that day. 

The mace found its target and Nicky watched as the man with the intense eyes dropped heavily back to where he had been laying only moments before. Seeing the man’s death for a second time, Nicky remembered his own and moved his hands to his throat. There was nothing— no wound. Perhaps he had only dreamed he had died.

Nicky stood unsteadily, still holding the mace. The battle had moved on, and his company, what was left of it, had pushed towards the city’s gates. There was nothing here but the dead. 

Shielding his eyes from the afternoon sun, he cried out in surprise as he fell onto his knees, a blow striking the back of his legs. He saw the man he had killed rear up above him and sink a cavalry spear in the center of his chest, cutting through the mail of his armor. A killing stroke. Another killing stroke. 

“I killed you,” Nicky said, stupidly. Hot blood trickled from his chest, staining his tunic. He gazed into the other man’s eyes and saw the fear he felt reflected back at him. He died again, this time knowing he was being watched by those dark, dangerously compelling eyes. 

***

Joe pulled the knife from the Italian with a sickening sound. He knew the language from his many happy days in Venice, emptying his boat of costly perfumes and fabrics from his home in Damascus and filling it again with Venetian treasures. 

He dropped the bloody knife and ran his hands through his thick, curly hair. One side was sticky with blood but there was no gash, no evidence of the blow that had felled him. What in God’s name was happening? He felt sick, plagued with memories of his deaths.

Joe looked down at the man he had just stabbed. He was beautiful, Joe thought, with a long straight nose and bright light eyes. How strange to stand over a man you’ve killed and realize in another life you might have known each other, enjoyed each other’s company, felt each other’s intimate touch.

Suddenly, the beautiful man’s body spasmed, breath filling his lungs again.  
“Not possible,” Joe uttered.  
The Italian repeated his last words on a gasp. “I killed you.”

Joe knew this man should be dead, knew he should be dead. Wearily he recognized they would have to fight again until one of them finally perished. 

“Do you need a moment?, he asked in Italian. He offered his hand to the man. They were mortal enemies, but Joe saw no reason he couldn’t be polite as they were stuck in this strange loop. 

Several emotions crossed the Italian’s face, but he seemed to make a decision when he took Joe’s hand. As Joe pulled him to his feet, he felt a rush of recognition. He knew this man—  
“You came to me in my dream last night,” he said, wonderingly. 

***

Nicky’s eyes widened. “How did you—?” He closed his mouth, surveying the tall soldier in front of him. He was handsome, with a thick beard and even skin. Nicky felt himself pulled in directions he did not want to travel down. The attraction he felt only made him feel stranger, more afraid. 

“What are you, some kind of devil? How are you doing this?” Nicky demanded, while mentally assessing his chances in another fight to the death. 

The other soldier’s eyes narrowed with anger and Nicky felt himself tense. 

“I have done nothing. You are the stranger, the interloper. What dark magic have you brought to the Holy Land?”

At that, Nicky charged, drawing the knife that was tucked into his sword belt. They fell to the ground, grappling for dominance. As Nicky brought his small knife down to find a final home in the man’s unprotected neck, he saw an arrow coming swiftly towards him. Unable to block it, the arrow found its way unerringly to Nicky’s eye. This time they died on top of each other. 

On it went, violence punctuated by death and life, as the sun disappeared from the sky. The moon was high when the Muslim soldier finally shouted, “Enough!” His head held in a tight grip, Nicky struggled, desperate for purchase. The man yelled again, “We are accomplishing nothing! Stop!”

He released Nicky, who stumbled and fell heavily. There was a long moment of silence as each man considered their strange predicament. Neither, it seemed, would be able to kill the other. And, Nicky thought wearily, he was no longer sure he wanted to. 

Finally, Nicky said, “You speak Italian very well. Where did you learn it?”  
The man let out a little huff of laughter. “In Venice, in the markets.”  
Nicky almost smiled. “I am Niccolo.”  
His foe went to him and held out his hand, again. “Yusef. Follow me.”

Nicky took Yusuf’s hand and allowed himself to be pulled up. In sermon after sermon he had heard in thousands of masses, Nicky knew he should hate this man and be glad of the opportunity to kill him over and over. But he found himself following, sitting quietly as he built them a fire in a quiet spot away from the carnage. Nicky watched the flames dance across his enemy’s face. It was a face that was pleasing to him, one he found he no longer had the heart to see without life animating the features. What would this man look like in a tent, like the ones he had seen dotting the Holy Land, looking up at Nicky from a bed of silk? How would his dark beard feel against Nicky’s skin?  
After a long silence, he said, “I had a dream, too.”  
“Of me?”  
“Yes.” He paused, then said, “Do you think we are being punished by God?”  
Yusuf’s mouth twisted in a sad almost smile. “I don’t know.”  
“I can’t go back to my life,” said Nicky, staring into the fire.

***

Perhaps the dream hadn’t ended, thought Joe. That was the only explanation he could find for why he would feel so connected, so attracted to this man he had killed hours before. If it is a dream, he thought recklessly, it doesn’t matter what I do. Emboldened, he rose from his place across the fire and sat next to Nicky, whose eyes were sparkling with unshed tears. Joe wished to wipe those tears away, to see this man flush with arousal, instead of anger.  
“What is happening?” Nicky asked.

Joe answered him by reaching up and brushing a hand along Nicky’s cheek.  
“I don’t know,” he answered, as he softly kissed the man who had taken his life.


	2. Chapter 2

Nicky’s heart hammered underneath his cross-emblazoned tunic. His hand fluttered and found Yusuf’s strong, comforting shoulders. He slid a hand up to grip Yusuf’s soft curly hair and pulled him closer.Yusuf responded by deepening the kiss, which had begun tentatively but quickly became something urgent. It almost frightened Nicky, how strongly he reacted to the touch of this stranger.

Nicky tried to close the distance between their bodies without breaking the kiss. He leaned forward and they slid off the stone they were perched on. Nicky found himself on top of Yusuf, knees braced on either side of his chest. They shared a startled silent moment, then Nicky started laughing; he couldn’t help it.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “Normally, I am much more refined in these matters.”

Yusuf grinned up at him. “Find yourself in this situation often?”

Nicky found it impossible not to smile back. Desire flared hot, and he leaned over Yusuf’s trapped body, brushed the corner of Yusuf’s still smiling mouth with a kiss.

“Not often enough, unfortunately,” he whispered.

Nicky felt the corners of Joe’s mouth turn up. “Glad you didn’t kill me?” Yusuf asked, a whisper in Nicky’s ear.

Nicky answered by turning his head and capturing Yusuf’s mouth in a proper kiss.

Once, Nicky had made his living as a scribe, copying out important documents for the local signori in his home of Chioggia. Although he enjoyed his work, he had jumped at the chance to leave the small, gloomy room in his lordship’s palazzo and travel for the first time.The sermons from his fiery priest sparked a desire in Nicky, not to fight, as if on a mission from God like other men, but to have adventure, valor, a different life.A year of hard travel and violence had shaken those naive dreams out of Nicky’s head. 

But in this moment, the hope he had for a different life, began to ring through his soul once more.

Nicky softly, playfully moved his mouth against Yusuf’s. But the other man was having none of that. He licked Nicky’s mouth open, asking for entrance. Once he was granted it, he kissed Nicky as if he was the only thing in this world.

Tongues tangling, Yusuf brushed his hands down Nico’s arms, a touch he could feel through the layers of fabric and metal. Nicky let out a soft groan, overcome with passion for the man underneath him. Although he was on top of him, he strained to be closer to Yusuf. Feeling Nicky’s control loosening, Yusuf rolled so he was above Nicky. He broke their kiss to stare down at Nicky, a playful smile upon his kiss-swollen lips.

“More,” Nicky moaned, urging Yusuf down for another kiss.

“Play nice and maybe you’ll get something even better,” Yusuf teased as he rolled his hips to fit perfectly against Nicky’s. Nicky groaned again, almost in pain for how much he wanted this man. Seemingly satisfied, Yusuf leaned down to capture Nicky’s lips.

As Yusuf once again brought their hips together, a chorus of voices intruded, snapping the moment in half. Nicky stiffened and Joe rose up, searching for the source of the noise. 

Nicky couldn’t make out what they were saying, until he recognized the strains of a dirty French ballad. They sounded very close. He reached for his sword and realized with a jolt it was lying somewhere on the battlefield, abandoned after they had come to their truce.

“The fire,” whispered Yusuf. Nicky came back to himself and scrambled off the other man.Crouching, he picked up handfuls of sandy dirt, flinging them on the fire Yusuf had built so carefully.Yusuf joined him, stamping out the flames.

The fire was dying as a half dozen or so Frenchman entered the clearing that had been their little reprieve from the world. The half-light made the men look ghoulish, dressed in their rough peasant’s clothes, the sweat and blood of the day’s battle still upon them.It seemed they had been celebrating their army’s success, or perhaps they were fortifying themselves to pick valuables off the dead. One man, stocky with a thick beard the color of mustard, called out. “Who goes there?”

From the side of his eyes, Nicky saw Yusuf melt into the shadows. He knew that Yusuf could not be found by this drunken gang, but Nicky regretted the loss. He knew he would never see the handsome solider again.

Thinking as quickly as he could, Nicky called back, “Bonjour, friends! Please join me by my fire.”

The men stayed standing. One or two of them swayed slightly with drink. The bearded man responded. “Didn’t think I’d see a living soul so far from the action.A man might wonder what you’re doing here, by yourself.”

“I was separated from my company,” Nicky scrambled for a lie. “I thought tomorrow, in the daylight, I could rejoin them in the city.”

The man guffawed. “Bullshit. You’re leaving this fucking place, same as us. There’s not an honorable soul left outside the city.”

Desertion, while common, was seen as the worst sort of cowardice among the Christian army. Nicky’s pride would not allow him to commiserate with this man. “You insult me, sir.”

It wasn’t clear if the man was listening as he took a swig from the bottle he held in his fist. “I’ve been fighting for God for years and I’ve yet to see any sign of him on the battlefield. It’s all for nothing, believe me. Men cut down in the sand, can’t be buried properly. Where’s God in that?”

“Your actions are of no consequence to me,” said Nicky, assessing his ability to fight six men at once. “Leave, and I’ll not speak a word of your desertion to anyone.”

The drunken man gave an exaggerated bow. “Thank you ever so much for deigning to protect my honor, your lordship.Henry, do you think a well-spoken man like this one in front of us carries any coin?”

“Worth checkin ‘im”, replied one of the bearded man’s large companions.

“Kill him and be done with it,” said another. “We’ve got to move on before it gets light.”

Nicky tensed into a fighting stance, keeping his back to the fire. “You don’t want to fight me, gentlemen.”

The bearded man clumsily pulled a roughly hewn sword out of the scabbard he wore around his waist. “Actually, I don’t think I’ll mind it much, thanks,” he said flatly, as he advanced forward.

Nicky met the man’s heavy stroke with a gauntleted arm, aiming a kick at his groin. The man doubled over, gasping, as one of his companions aimed a short axe at Nicky’s head. He ducked as another member of the mob hit him in the back and he fell heavily forward. Another blow connected with the back of his head, sending sparks across his vision, and he felt a hot, sharp pain in his middle.After that, it wasn’t much of a fight anymore. He went in and out of consciousness as they tugged his gauntlets off and searched his belt for a money bag. 

One of them searched under his tunic and armor, discovering the cross necklace he had worn since his youth. Grabbing hold of the bronze pendant, someone tried to snap it from his neck. Nicky had enough presence of mind left to try and bat away the grubby hands but he received a blow across his temple for his trouble. The chain on his necklace broke and he was once again dropped unceremoniously to the ground.

Nicky lay on the sandy earth, gasping, trying desperately not to die again.

Earlier, he had wondered if he was being punished. Perhaps, he thought idly, he had been kept alive during battle because he didn’t deserve a heroic death. God had wanted him to die like this, alone and killed by robbing deserters.

He wished they had let him keep his necklace. He wished that Yusuf was somewhere safe. But most of all, he wished he could have spent more than a few moments in Yusuf’s company, proper moments.

As Nicky cataloged his regrets, an arrow whizzed over him. His last thought before he died for the final time that day was that he hoped the arrow had found its target.


	3. Chapter 3

It had been stupid to leave so much behind on the battlefield. All Joe brought to the campfire was his smallest knife, tucked into the top of his boots. Not much to bring to a fight with six large Christians. What Joe did _not_ want was to be captured and brought into the city proper. It would be even harder to slip away then, and Joe had already decided that he and Nicky would do just that. They had been given a gift, by God or something else, and he did not intend to waste it in a stupid battle fought on behalf of the wealthy and powerful. So he slipped away as the Frenchmen approached, running silently into the night, looking for something, anything, to fight with.

He found what he was looking for in the pack saddle of a cavalry horse—a dozen or so stone-tipped arrows packed neatly in a leather roll, never to be drawn by their owner, who was lying not far from his steed, bow still gripped in a claw-like hand. Joe said a quick prayer over the body before prising the bow out of his grip. “Thank you,” he whispered, already sprinting back to the campfire.

Slowing, he approached the camp, drawing an arrow as silently as he could. He arrived in time to hear the sickening sound of a boot connecting with Nicky’s head, as one of them held his friend’s arms behind his back and another searched him for valuables. The sight made his heart clench and anger flare hot through his body. He took a breath to calm himself, drawing an arrow from his pack. He was not a great shot, but he was strong enough to draw the bow properly, and he was close enough that his first arrow found a home in the thigh in the Frenchman called Henry, who cried out and dropped to the ground, clutching his leg.

Quickly, Joe loosed another arrow, and another. He aimed for the man holding Nicky, missed, tried again, and hit him in the shoulder. The bearded man, who had been holding searching Nicky’s person, dropped him unceremoniously to the ground. He shouted to what was left of his group and they abandoned the fight, running out into the night. One of the men he had shot stumbled after his friends, the other lay on the ground, let out a death rattle, and died.

Joe sprinted out into the clearing. Nicky was lying with his eyes open on his back, a bloody blow marring one side of his face, a stab wound darkening his middle. Joe was gripped by a sudden fear that this time, the death would take. He ran to Nicky, cradling him in his arms. He really did have lovely eyes, Joe thought. So bright and clear, like the sky on a day that’s good for sailing. He smoothed the man’s bloody hair away from his face, rocking him slightly. “Come back to me, habibi,” he whispered.

It took a moment, but Nicky did come back. Joe watched miraculous life return to Nicky’s eyes, felt his body stutter back to conciousness. All Joecould do was grin down at him, relief coursing through him. He hadn’t realized he’d been that worried, and he was almost embarrassed to be holding this man he hardly knew. Not enough to stop, of course.

Confusion crossed Nicky’s face as he realized what had happened. “You came back,” he whispered.

Joe smiled “I don’t think I can let you out of my sight.,” he said. “ Just look what happens, you get yourself killed again.”

Nicky continued to look dazedly up at Joe. He tenderly wiped away a speck of blood on Nicky’s cheek. “Are you surprised?” Joe asked.

Nicky swallowed. “Yes, I thought—I was afraid—”

Joe gathered Nicky closer to himself. “It’s all right,” he said, “I won’t leave you again,” He realized as he was saying it that it was true.Everything about his life was in tumult; his future had been completely severed from his past. The only thing he could hold on to was Nicky, so he did, clutching him tightly and leaning down for a consoling kiss.


End file.
